A Friendship To Remember
by SallyCarefree
Summary: Set sometime after season 6. Neal has served his sentence 3 years ago. Now, he's free, and everything should be fine. However, something went seriously wrong. To make matters worse, Peter and Neal became estranged. But Neal needs a friend, desperately. What else to expect? No one is going to die. There will be hurt and comfort. Like the story title implies, friendship, too.
1. First Encounter

Set sometime after season 6 (ok, you might call me a hopeless optimist, but there has to be a season 6). Neal has served his sentence 3 years ago. Now, he's free, and everything should be fine. However, something went seriously wrong. To make matters worse, Peter and Neal became estranged. Since both of them are men, they have problems to talk. But Neal needs a friend, desperately. What else to expect? No one is going to die. There will be hurt and comfort. Like the story title implies, friendship, too.

**Now...**

Neal sat in his aisle seat, obviously at ease while chatting animatedly to June. He was looking forward to the second half of the opera. He loved Verdi, however, hadn't been at the Met for almost three years. Act one and two haven't failed his expectations so far.

Truth be told, he felt a bit odd, sitting in the unfamiliar seat and all. It was comfy, without a doubt, but so plushy and spacious.

June's friends had given her the tickets for this evening's exquisite performance since they were cruising the Caribbean and, therefore, couldn't enjoy La Traviata themselves. Thereupon, June has asked her tenant for company a couple of days ago.

After some hesitation, Neal has agreed. Right now, he was glad that he had obliged her. He was dressed in one of his best suits and had already admired his looks earlier on at length in the mirror hanging in his bedroom. He had spent the afternoon in gleeful anticipation discussing with June the cast which included a new Japanese tenor who had built up a world-wide reputation. Of course, the ex-con had never ceased to study the arts section in the national newspaper, no matter where he had stayed at the time.

Still, this was his first public appearance since he had returned to New York a month ago. Somehow, it felt strange to sit once again in one of the best seats in the Metropolitan Opera as if nothing had changed. He had been a regular guest here, at least whenever he could persuade Peter to extend his radius generously. The thought made him smile.

The radius, together with the tracking anklet, were gone a long time ago, same applies for his handler. The con man didn't have to ask anyone nowadays if he wanted to visit a museum, the opera or any other place. No more obligations to turn up early morning at the Bureau to solve boring mortgage frauds. No need to report to anyone else but himself.

Neal uttered a bitter sigh. Irony of fate, wasn't it? But why spoiling this perfect evening with disturbing thoughts about Peter Burke and the FBI? He had put on his flashing smile before he turned to June to draw her attention to a spectacular diamond necklace he had spotted. Both of them discussed the clarity and size of the stones, not to forget the anticipated black-market price. Old habits die hard.

The gong chimed for the first time when someone stopped next to his seat, staring in his face disbelievingly.

"Neal? Is that really you?"

The ex-criminal was caught by surprise and paled visibly. How likely was it that Peter Burke visited the opera? Seriously, this was against all odds. In fact, as a high class gambler he knew everything about weighing the odds.

Smiling politely, he welcomed his former handler without any marked enthusiasm. "Oh! Hi Peter, nice to meet you! How are you? I haven't seen you in years."

Burke threw him a baffled look. "How am I? Well, I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Do you have any idea how worried I've been? El and me both! The last time we've talked, you gave me your flight details so that I could pick you up at JFK three days later. That was the last bit of information I got from you. Only, that has been Thanksgiving more than a year ago!"

The agent had started talking in a soft voice, but it has increased considerably in loudness and agitation while he was speaking.

Neal feigned indifference. "Oh come on. Don't pout. I had realized I wasn't up for a homey Thanksgiving family dinner yet. I'd got an invitation that was just too good to miss. You won't believe how luxurious those yachts are down in St. Trop. I mean a helipad aboard, that's something big! Not to forget two Playmates and one of George Clooney's ex-girlfriends. Besides, I've send you a message! So you can't persist in saying that you haven't known about my whereabouts."

Agent Burke worked hard to keep his emotions under control listening to the bratty ramblings. "You've sent a postcard from Nice, weeks later. _'Sorry, but I'm not in the mood for New York right now. Something came across. Don't worry, nothing illegal. I'll get in touch later on.'_

Thanks for your message! I've had no idea where or how you've been all those months or, while we're on it, that you're back. Now, I run into you, out of the blue, here in Manhattan. And all you can say is _'Hi, Peter!_' What's wrong with you? Why haven't you had at least the grace to call once you've returned? I was worried sick, and so was El, and Diana, and Clinton!"

**Then...**

All preparations for Thanksgiving have been completed, more or less. According to Elizabeth, rather less. However, her husband has thought tangerine colored candles and matching napkins or another dessert – she had already made two – wouldn't spoil the celebration if they were missing.

Peter has been waiting quite relaxed at the airport to pick up his friend who was scheduled to arrive with an Air France flight at 2:30 pm. He was really looking forward to the reunion. Neal had spent more than a year roaming Europe and Asia after serving his sentence. Now, he was about to come back to live in New York.

The flight arrived on time, though even an hour later Caffrey hasn't turned up. Peter tried to call him, but the mobile seemed to be disconnected. Using his FBI badge, Peter found out that Caffrey hasn't been aboard.

Burke has waited at the airport checking the next 4 flights coming in from Paris. No, Neal. Towards evening, he was seriously concerned.

He has spent the whole next day, Thanksgiving, at the Bureau to find out what has happened to Neal. Diana Barrigan has helped to call French authorities and hospitals. Clinton has reached an old friend who was working for the CIA, calling in some favors, to get access to intelligence reports. They had found nothing. Neal Caffrey has never boarded a plane in Paris. After a few days, they confirmed he hadn't stayed in a hotel there either.

Peter has been about to go to France himself to find Neal when the postcard has arrived. El, who has been worried all along but tried to be strong and help with the research, had suffered a mental breakdown reading the card. Agent Burke had worked up a cold fury; consequently he canceled his travel plans. That night, he drank himself into oblivion. Something, he had never done before.

Since then, the name Neal Caffrey had never again passed his lips.

**Now...**

The accused man grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I acted carelessly. I haven't found the time yet to call you. It was on my agenda, I promise. But you know how it is when you return after a long time. It must have been the same for when you came back from Washington. You'll have tons to catch up on."

Deep inside Neal was thinking, _'So much for, I never lied to you.'_ Right from the very first day after moving back to his old apartment, he has struggled not to call his old friend. He has reached for the phone countless times, even started to dial. Yet still, he couldn't do it. No way. At one point, he was so frustrated, after dialing almost Peter's complete landline number that he had thrown his mobile over the balustrade of the roof top terrace.

Peter tried to calm down. "Look. I don't know what happened. Probably, you've had a good reason to act the way you did. I guess we'll find a way to work it out. I spotted you from our seats in the balcony. Only, I wasn't sure if it's been really you. I haven't said anything to El, yet. Sure is, she would be more than happy to meet you. Why don't you come and join me for a quick chat in the lobby?"

It has taken a while for the former consultant until it dawned on him why the FBI agent was spending an evening at the opera. It offered the perfect excuse. "I can't do that. It's your anniversary, Peter. I won't dare to interfere. You should rather enjoy a romantic evening alone with your pretty wife, with fine music, a glass of champagne or two, but without a drop-dead handsome and charming ex-criminal who draws all the attention onto him."

Agent Burke shook his head once more in disbelief. The Neal Caffrey he had known has had no scruples to impose on anyone. He won't forget the morning he had found his consultant, sitting in his home, on his couch with his wife, patting his dog after he had left his radius without second thoughts. This was a flimsy excuse.

He felt hurt and furious beyond conception. Right now, he could only think _'That miserable son of a bitch!'_

Luckily, the gong chimed for the second time and saved Neal. "Listen Peter, it's about time to find your seats. You won't want to be one of these disturbing patrons who come in late. People hate them! I'll call on you one of these days."

And with that he waved goodbye to his former friend with an impertinent nonchalance.

Gasping for air, Peter Burke decided to leave before he would say something really rude or worse, switch over to non-verbal communication...

Trembling with anger and annoyance, he turned on his heels and left.

Neal sat there in silence, biting his lips. June, who had watched as well and listened to the encounter, rested her hand on his in a futile attempt to provide some comfort. She figured out how hard this must have been for her friend.

She didn't approve of Neal's self-imposed communication ban. In fact, she had led many passionate discussions with him about that topic without being able to change his mind. However, she understood his motivations.

After the lights went out and the curtain has risen, Neal whispered with a flat voice. "June, I need to leave. Now! Please call the usher to bring it."

The wise old lady had some doubts if this were the right thing to do. "Are you sure my dear? Maybe, today is as good as ever to..."

"No, please. I can't stay. Sorry if I ruined your evening. I would go myself to fetch it. Unfortunately, as we both know, I can't." He cracked a bitter smile, blinking back the tears.

June felt his hurt, so she didn't hesitate any longer. "Of course, don't worry about my evening. Verdi is quite a bit overrated, isn't it? Give me a minute. I'm going to find someone to help us."

It didn't take her long to return in the company of an employee of the Met. He brought a wheelchair and positioned it next to Neal's seat. With one swift experienced pull he removed the armrest on the aisle and helped the disabled patron to move over from the seat into the wheelchair. Afterwards, he replaced the armrest, so it looked just like every other seat in the row.

June wheeled Neal outside, down the wheelchair ramp towards the disabled parking spot where her limousine was waiting for them.

...

AN:  
So far, I only have an idea about the general direction the story might take. There are still some questions unanswered.  
I hope you like the start.

And if anyone was wondering, I don't own White Collar and have no idea what's going on in Jeff Eastin's mind. (-Disclaimer!)


	2. Sleepless Night

Sleep is like the unicorn - it is rumored to exist, but I doubt I will see any!

(Enya)

**Now...**

Many people all over New York have had problems falling asleep that night owing to the full moon.

However, the moon wasn't the only reason for insomnia. Some people were too haunted by memories to find rest...

Elizabeth, as one of them, has been stewing over the strange turn her anniversary had taken. She didn't understand what went wrong after all. Peter had been waiting for her with a flower bouquet and a new charm for her bracelet when she came down for breakfast. They discussed going to Donatella's for dinner, just like every year.

Therefore, she was surprised when a delivery man brought a ticket for the opera. The ticket came together with a big box of her favorite chocolates and a card saying '_Surprise! I'll pick you up at 6 pm. Love you!_'

The evening started pleasantly. Peter feigned ignorance as for the visit to the opera, stubbornly pretending that it has been her idea in the first place. This teasing was quite funny; so they were joking around a lot.

El was enjoying the performance of La Traviata as well as the elegant flair and fuss. Her husband put up a brave front, not even once complaining about the foreign, unusual music.

Granted, he watched the crowd more interestedly than the stage, but she didn't care. As long as he enjoyed the evening she didn't mind. Then, he disappeared during intermission coming back withdrawn and shaken later on.

After that, he hasn't said more than a dozen sentences until they went to bed. He wasn't sleeping either. Even so, she could tell he wouldn't talk to her right now.

Therefore, El was wondering what happened at the opera. What has caused Peter's grim mode? She had no clue at all but was worried and scared. Finally, she has drifted off, yet her dreams stayed troubled.

After tossing and turning sleeplessly in bed, Burke got finally up to watch some old baseball game reruns on TV.

Thinking back to the encounter with Neal roused his bile once again. That arrogant, bratty, selfish, cold-hearted, rude, glib, flippant, unfaithful son of a bitch! He should rot in hell or prison or wheresoever.

Only, something in his former consultant's behavior has stricken him as odd. He couldn't put his finger on it; however, there was something fishy going on.

Caffrey was a lot of things. Indeed, honesty and straightforwardness have never been his most prominent characteristics. But for all his faults, he has never been cruel or unfaithful. Even more, his eyes, those brilliant blue eyes, looked pained and stood in stark contrast to the idle talk.

Both men had been building a stable friendship during those years when Neal worked as CI for the FBI. Burke has known that the younger man saw him as a father figure at some point of time. To be frank, Peter has taken a liking to the idea himself. He has felt the same affection and responsibility for his consultant as he might have felt for a younger brother, or indeed a son.

As such, getting the cold shoulder from Neal hurt beyond belief.

Furthermore, Burke felt sorry for El. He had been surprised when the ticket was delivered to the FBI together with a handwritten note from his wife, asking him to pick her up at 6 pm.

She pretended all evening that she didn't send the ticket, yet he knew how much she liked the opera. Actually, she has been right! They could go to Donatella any day, but their anniversary was indeed a special day which should be celebrated accordingly.

If she wanted to put up an act, that was fine with him. A little bit of foolishness didn't hurt. Playfulness has left their marriage the day Neal Caffrey dumped them and sealed it with a postcard. Since then, both their world has turned a bit bleak and boring.

So, Peter didn't know what to make of this. He was angry, confused, and at a loss what to do. Not exactly a good sleeping aid, those feelings. He knew he would be overtired tomorrow morning but couldn't change it.

Neal couldn't sleep either. Then again, sleep evaded him most of the nights. He spent many nights working on his paintings. Thoughts were riding merry-go-round in his mind. If only he had done this or not done that, how would his life have been today?

_Shoulda, coulda, woulda!_ It was of no use to dwell on what has gone wrong – but he couldn't stop doing it.

**Then...**

Neal has spent the last months in the south of France. The summer was busy with parties and field trips to picturesque medieval villages. Though, when the tourists were leaving, he calmed down, eventually coming to terms with himself.

As the leaves were starting to fall, he found his own painting style, a unique mash-up of impressionism and expressionism in riotous colors. The results were no less than smashing. He has met a gallery owner from New York who has been more than willing to host an exhibition.

Caffrey had struggled so many years to find his way of living, until at long last he has felt at ease being square with the entire world.

So, he packed up and made all the necessary preparations to return to New York. He would move back into his old apartment at June's, but he'd look for a separate studio since he'd need more space to work on his paintings.

Neal has been full of gleeful anticipation, looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with the Burkes. Going home, finally!

His flight was scheduled the day after the next; everything was organized; all his paintings were boxed and shipped to New York already. This afternoon, he was going to Paris by train. Therefore, he made a last visit to his favorite bistro in Cannes.

From his table, he was able to watch the beach as well as the street. Spotting a little girl playing with her puppy made him smile. Maybe, some day he would have a family of his own, a little girl or boy, and a dog, too. He had still got all his life in front of him.

When the puppy ran onto the street, the little girl was following unnoticed by her mother. Suddenly, Neal saw a sports car speeding in their direction. He jumped yelling to his feet. He raced towards the street to warn the girl. Only, she was so focused on her dog that she didn't perceive anything else.

Caffrey managed to grab her and push her out of the danger zone. Unfortunately, he slipped. He was hit full force by the car a split second later.

He woke up three days later in a private hospital. Some broken ribs, lots of blood loss, many bruises as well as contusions, and a concussion had been taken care of. Those were already healing fine. Lulled by heavy pain medication, he didn't feel any pain at all.

Regrettably, his spinal cord was damaged, so he wasn't able to move his legs, or at least feel them. The medical team examined him very thoroughly leaving no test undone. They even flew in a specialist from Geneva. But they didn't come up with a cure.

You won't have to worry about medical bills if you have been hit by a drunken, young aristocrat and have saved the grand-daughter of a billionaire at the same time. Money wasn't an issue, but it couldn't buy back his health or physical integrity either.

The accident has been kept off record. The driver's family has had good connections to the local authorities. Caffrey didn't care; legal prosecution wouldn't give him back his life.

Neal was hit by an epic depression once he realized the consequences of his injuries. He didn't want to see any of his friends, and neither did he want to be seen by any of them. He knew if the Burkes' learned about his accident, no-one could stop them from rushing over the ocean to his side.

That was why he wrote the postcard. He didn't want to be tracked down, and therefore, a nurse posted the card in Nice on his behalf.

It took him a while, months actually, until he reconciled himself to the fact that he survived. At first, he has been very bitter, railing against his fate. Why hasn't he died, but been condemned to live with a disabled body?

Mozzie has tracked him down with the help of some mutual friends in Europe after some months. He has offered help, starting from financial aid to obscure medical treatments, and most of all, his unconditional friendship. Though, his friend hasn't been willing – or able – to accept it right away.

Gradually, Caffrey came to terms with the situation, grudgingly, yet unrelenting. If you can't fix it, you gotta stand it! He started to regain control over his life. It was hard, a fierce fight with lots of setbacks rather than a smooth process.

Finally, moving back to New York had been an act of bravery fueled by a ray of hope to find a cure.

**Now...**

Meeting his former friend and partner has left Neal in an emotional turmoil.

He hasn't wanted Peter to know about his physical disability. Yes, he has been aware how much hurt his snotty brat act tonight might have inflicted on his former handler. Putting up the indifferent attitude has been more than difficult.

But it was better to hurt once than drawing out the agony. Or wasn't it? The thought alone, of spending an evening together with Peter and El made his heart ache.

Coming upon his former partner, has conjured up unwelcome memories of happier times. Times when he was looking forward to his future. Times when he could have run at any moment, however, decided to stay because he didn't want to be somewhere else but right there. That was in the past.

Nowadays, he has been so much less than his former self and running hasn't really been an option anymore. Being left without a choice has been driving him crazy.

Downstairs, June was drinking a cup of tea while staring at the full moon. Why Neal acted so foolishly remained a mystery to her.

She has hoped once the old friends met in person, this non-talking issue would resolve itself. Her tenant has flatly refused to adduce good reasons for avoiding Agent Burke. Obviously, he made his life quite miserable by blocking his former partner out. Yet still, whenever his landlady challenged him to state reasons, he stayed as mute as a fish.

Neal was working hard to make the best of his new life. Even after a year and a half, every day has been a challenge. Moving in a wheelchair through the city and coping with the housework on his own has been physically demanding. Subjecting to the restrictions forced upon him as well as dealing with all those crashed dreams has been emotional grueling.

The ex-criminal has just needed all his friends for support; besides, his relationship to Peter has always been special. June has watched her friend for weeks only to realize that he was on the point of collapse. To put it in a nutshell, he needed plain and simple help. Help she couldn't provide, as much as she wanted to. She has been able to ease his everyday life a bit, but that hasn't been enough, not by far.

Reluctantly, she promised not to tell Burke about Caffrey's accident or this disability. Because the con man has been no fool, he made sure that '_not telling_' included talking, writing or sending pictures about the sorry affair. Telling a third person, like El for example, was also prohibited.

Still, June Ellington has been a creative spirit all her life and not that easy to discourage.

Arranging a chance meeting did obviously not achieve its purpose. Quite the opposite, the fronts were hardened. So, she might have to enlist Mozzie's service once more. He was more than willing to assist when asked to produce two notes in the Burke's handwriting. The forger sent both cards express the very next day.

June smiled at the thought of Mozzie. She would never have anticipated how the little man has turned his life upside down. Granted, he has always been an expert in reinventing himself, but this has been even for him a drastic step.

He has met a woman, Bonnie, with the looks of a dumb blonde and a razor-like wit, in addition with a fatal passion for lunatic crimes. Mozzie has hit it off with her right away. Since she was on the most wanted list of three federal agencies in the US for hacking into the Pentagon's network, they settled down in Quebec to raise their children, two-year old twin girls and a one-year-old boy.

Operating a bakery has been a good disguise for the enormous power consumption of the server farm they were running in the basement. Together, they both tried to uncover some shrewd government conspiracies, but they were leading, apart from that, a happy and fulfilled life.

So, Mozzie has finally found the family he has been longing for all his life. However, every now and then he traveled abroad to replenish their funds. Although, Bonnie made fantastic cakes, they didn't bring in enough money to pay all the bills - including secure satellite uplinks and lots of diapers.

Finally, June allowed her thoughts to rest, eventually going to bed. She could hear Neal upstairs, still awake and unable to sleep, probably painting again. Her heart went out to him.

She hoped that he would find some sleep, too. Basically, she held it with Frank Sinatra and approved anything that got you through the night - be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniels, or arts in his case.

**AN:**

Thank you for your wonderful reviews.

So now, you know why our favorite ex-con men is sitting in a wheelchair. Argh, men! Don't expect Peter and Neal to fix everything in the next chapter. They will need some more time.

And I will need probably need another week until the next chapter will be uploaded.

If you don't like the characters as I describe them or the style of my writing, I'm sorry. But since I haven't found a way yet to force people into reading my stories, it's completely up to you whether you read them or not. So, writing the stories is my right of choice, reading them is your right of choice. But of course, I hope you keep on reading :-)


	3. Same old misunderstandings

**Downtown…**

About two weeks later, Peter Burke sat in his office on the 25th floor at the FBI studying some statistics. Some years ago, he had moved to Washington but hadn't stayed there for long. Somehow, he has never taken to the political minefield of the headquarter or the pace of the capital city.

So, it hadn't been a hard decision when he was offered an executive position to reorganize the corporate fraud department in New York.

He had been afraid that all those meetings, committees and round tables the new job involved would be deadly boring. However, he loved being able to make smart decisions that improved the division's success rate. By now, he has built strong teams in his division with agents thinking outside of the box. Every now and then he missed the field work, but overall, he loved the new job.

Nevertheless, Burke welcomed the break when someone knocked on his door. He was pleasantly surprised to see one of his former agents from the White Collar division. "Diana, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Agent Barrigan was still working for art crimes and their paths didn't cross often any more.

She smiled apologetically. "Neal Caffrey, just like the good old days."

Burke's heart missed a beat, or two. "What has he done this time?"

Diana took a seat and spread out a thick file on the desk. "See for yourself! We've investigated three crimes bearing the unmistakable hallmarks of Caffrey. In fact, they seem to be exact copies of his alleged crimes. You know, those thefts and forgeries for which there has never been enough evidence to bring a charge against him?"

Peter skimmed over the documents. He had created most of the reports about the old crimes, meanwhile past the statute of limitations, himself. "So, you think he came back to rerun the same scheme?"

Diana shrugged. "Either that, or there's a copycat around. Caffrey hasn't appeared on our radar for years. As far as we know, he's not even in New York."

Burke stared at her dumbstruck. "I've seen him at the opera, only a fortnight ago. He's back, that's for sure."

The female agent couldn't hide her surprise. "Why haven't you told me? What did he say? When has he come back and what are his plans? And why have you of all people been at the opera?"

She remembered clearly those weeks when they had had no clue about Caffrey's whereabouts. Instead, they had been worried sick that something bad might have happened to him. Learning that he's been back, took her by surprise.

Peter couldn't answer all of her questions. "I bumped into him, plain coincidence. It was my anniversary. I met him during intermission, though he didn't give away much. I guess he was bored touring the European beaches and has come back. In fact, he displayed an incredible arrogance brushing me off politely, but distinctively. I have no clue how he's earning his keep nowadays, that is if he's running crimes or having some legit income."

Sure enough, Burke's professional interest has been aroused. Since Diana was on her way to the last crime scene, he decided to join her on a trip to the Downtown art gallery.

The gallery was located in an art exhibition center, a building with lots of tall windows, chrome and stainless steel. Several upscale galleries, as well as art consultant agencies, were hosted in the building.

A top-notch showroom on the upper floor has been hit. A thief has rappelled down from the roof, entered through a tiny window, and took a small, though very valuable, sculpture the previous night. The installed alarm system has satisfied the highest security standards. Apparently, this was the work of an experienced pro with insider knowledge.

So far, they haven't found any incriminating evidences, no fingerprints, no security footage, nothing.

Diana stayed to supervise the crime scene investigation, whereas Peter has seen enough and left. The whole set up was the same as it had been 9 years ago when Caffrey had been their suspect.

On his way out, he passed by another avant-garde gallery in the base floor. The agent was able to assess the resale value of a piece of art and has learned quite a bit about the art business during his years at the FBI. However, paintings or sculptures have never stricken a chord in him. It was only professional competence, nothing personal as it has been for Neal.

Until this very moment.

Looking through the glass door, a painting in the rear of the showroom caught his eye. The whole canvas seemed to glow in orange, red, and yellow colors in a multitude of different shades. It was bright, and it was dark; full of harmony and completely desperate at the same time. Two objects, possibly people, in a pale rectangle were the center of the picture, with another darker object lurking at the bottom.

Lots of other color blotches, triangles and other figures were to find on the canvas, but Peter wasn't able to actually recognize anything. Still, he felt an irresistible need to take this painting home.

Back at his office, Agent Burke stared perplexed at the painting leaning against the back of a chair. He had no idea what had made him entering the gallery, charging his credit card with roughly ten grand, and taking the painting with him in exchange. The whole process, from spotting the painting to storing it in his car, has taken less than twenty minutes. Has he been brainwashed by someone or just went nuts? It would be no fun to explain the credit card statement to El.

**Uptown…**

Neal and Mozzie have just finished lunch. Now, the little man was enjoying a final glass of wine. "You're sure you don't want to join me? It's really an excellent Cabernet."

Caffrey declined and wheeled over to the fridge. "No, thanks. I'm fine with Perrier. I'd rather stay away from alcoholic liquids, or I'm afraid I might drown in them."

He filled his glass with chilled water and went on. "So, you're going back home in a couple of hours. I'm going to miss you dearly. It's boring without you."

Moz smiled. "Yeah, I'm going back. As for you, you're always welcome! You know it. Bonnie misses you, too. The kids love you. You're a natural with children."

Neal smiled. "Thanks for the invite. I appreciate it. But no, I'll stay here. Unfinished business and so forth. And while I'm at it, what's about the business activities you had to take care of in New York?"

Obviously pleased with himself, the little man grinned. "Well, that's settled! It's great realizing you still have the ability to excel yourself. I've had some fun in acquiring valuable objects, met old business associates, and on top of that made a healthy profit. In short, I've had a wonderful week. But now I have to go back. I can't leave my family alone any longer. It's really tough for Bonnie alone with three and a half kids, plus the bakery."

Neal bubbled over with laughter. "Three and a half? Don't tell me you're expecting another baby. You're awesome!"

Mozzie grinned. "What can I say? So, what about you and, most importantly, your crucial, life-changing decision? Have you made up your mind yet? Set up a date?"

The ex-con man turned serious. "No, I'm still undecided. Maybe, I'm going to flip a coin. Frankly, I don't know what I'm going to do."

His former partner in crime got exasperated. "I don't understand why you're hesitating. It's not as if you've anything to lose, right?"

Caffrey felt cornered and hurt. "Thanks Mozzie, for the pep talk. You've been a great help. That's been exactly what I needed."

Mozzie regretted his rash words. "I'm sorry, mon frère! I didn't mean it like that. Anyway! Why don't you talk to the suit; maybe he can help you to sort out your decision problem. Oh no, wait, have I just given you the advice to approach a Fed? I feel my flesh crawling..."

The younger man remained silent and shook his head stubbornly.

Trying to lighten the mood, his friend changed the subject. "I've heard your exhibition has had a marvelous start. I've been there. Many of your paintings have already had these promising red sold-tags. Although, I have to tell you the security over there is lousy. It's a downright invitation to rob the whole place blind."

Neal's eyes sparkled. "It's incredible! I've received rave reviews. Two third of the paintings are already sold. Yesterday, there was a potential buyer who wanted to take it home right away. Steve, the gallery owner, called to ask if that's okay with me."

'Thanksgiving Cold Turkey' has been the first painting he had finished after his accident. It held very personal memories; and therefore, he had thought twice before he included it in the exhibition at all. On the other hand, it depressed him to even look at it. So, he was in an odd way relieved to learn that it has been sold; consequently he didn't raise an objection to Steve's request.

Eventually, Mozzie had to leave. The friends said goodbye and hugged. Neal tried to cover a dash of sadness. "I hope you said adieu to June. She would be disappointed otherwise."

"Of course. We've had breakfast together, and I made her promise to come visiting me and my family someday soon." Furthermore, both of them agreed that it could only be a matter of days until the suit would show up at June's doorstep to investigate the series of crimes.

Then, Peter couldn't avoid the elephant in the room any longer. Hopefully, that would break the deadlock, freeing Neal from his self-imposed isolation.

**Downtown…**

Diana completed the research on Caffrey as thorough and swift as usual. She had called her former boss in the evening before he went home. "Hi Boss!"

Burke chuckled. "I'm not your boss anymore."

Special Agent Barrigan agreed, kind of. "I get your point, Boss. I just thought you might want to know what we've found out about Caffrey so far."

Indeed, the senior agent has been thinking about his former consultant all afternoon and was curious to learn the news.

The FBI found out that a person under the name of Neal George Caffrey had boarded a Boeing 747 in Paris Orly 6 months ago and departed in Montreal. Since both airports were out of the US jurisdiction, there was no security footage from the airports available. They could get it, yet it would take some time and a lot of paperwork would be involved.

4 months later, Neal had crossed the border in a chauffeur-driven limousine near Detroit. The security footage showed him in the back seat, with June Ellington sitting next to him. Peter identified the car right away as June's sedan.

The FBI has checked Caffrey's credit card statements, but except for some restaurant bills, cab rides and lots of art supplies there was nothing to speak of. He hasn't caught the FBI's or NYPD's attention in the last two months, not even a ticket for parking violation. No mobile phone has been registered to him, no car, no eBay account, no online shopping.

Although the ex-criminal has seemingly turned into a model citizen, both agents agreed to pay him a visit the next day to sound him out.

When Diana picked him up the next morning, she was puzzled by the painting she spotted in his office. "Boss, have you moved back to art crimes, or why do you keep a painting in your office?"

Burke felt awkward. "Um, you know, it's actually mine. I've bought it."

Now, the other agent had to restrain laughter. "Is it a present for El or have you devoted yourself to arts as of late? Still, it's fantastic. I've never seen anything like that. Wait, what's the artist's name?"

She checked the lettering at the bottom right corner. "John Doe. Seriously, John Doe?"

Peter just shrugged. Not willing to discuss that he felt like being under a spell whenever he looked at the painting. Therefore, he dropped the subject and suggested setting out.

Even though he hasn't been there for years, Burke would have found the way to 351, Riverside Drive blind-folded. He was surprised to find the stately building remodeled. There was a winding path, leading to the back of the house. Curious, he followed the path to find it ending at a glass elevator. He mused that Mrs. Ellington grew older and probably the stairs formed a massive obstacle for her. Time marches on...

June didn't seem to be surprised to find the FBI agents at her door step, but rather relieved. After a bit of small talk, she asked them to go upstairs to see Neal.

Peter noticed that the apartment has been remodeled as well. More spacious, no tall bookshelves or hanging kitchen cupboard anymore. A separating wall has been removed and the doors seemed wider. It looked nice, probably the work of a classy interior designer.

The ex-consultant was sitting in a deck chair on the roof top terrace, wrapped in a blanket. The wheelchair was hidden behind a folding screen in his back. Out of sight, out of mind. He cherished the illusion of a world where he didn't need a wheelchair. Still, it wasn't out of reach, but Neal could get at it any moment.

He was absorbed in a book he was re-reading, one of his favorites, and didn't hear the knock on the door or the two people entering his apartment.

Therefore, he was caught off guard by his visitors.

Neal basking in the midday spring sun with some Italian roast on the coffee table, reading a book, wearing exclusive designer sun shades, not to forget the cashmere blanket, was a vision of pure decadence.

To fill the cup to the brim Caffrey saw obviously no need to rise and welcome his guests. Burke felt once again the familiar surge of anger.

His voice was filled with acid. "Caffrey, asking '_how are you_' is apparently not necessary. You clearly enjoy life. Must be nice, being able to indulge in sweet idleness."

Hurt by these accusations, the con man put a bold face on to mask the anguish. "Peter, Diana! You're welcome. The Italians call it '_Dolce far niente_'. You should try it yourself. It's really good for your inner balance, eases the flow of your chi."

Infuriating his former handler came to him as a natural talent, and Neal has honed the skill to perfection over the years. "What have I done to deserve the pleasure of your company? Please take a seat."

Diana chipped in because she realized her boss was about to go ballistic. Even though, she was miffed by the bratty behavior, too. "Hi Neal. Nice to see you after all those years. We're here to investigate some crimes and hope you might be able to give us some insight."

Caffrey gave her a broad smile. "Diana, you look fantastic. How is Theo?"

However, Peter wasn't in any mood to shoot the breeze. "Cut the crap and let's get down to business."

He briefed his former consultant on the crimes they were investigating.

Neal looked slightly amused which didn't appease the FBI agent. "Sounds familiar to you?"

Caffrey chuckled. "Yeah, it rings a bell. Sounds like a very resourceful and imaginative high flyer you're looking for, but it's not me. I can prove it."

Burke was ill-humored and not in the vein for joking. "OK, then prove it. Where have you been last night around midnight?"

The ex-criminal seemed to be unperturbed. "Instead of roping down from a rooftop, I was dating a gorgeous lady who will be more than willing to confirm this."

He was quite good with his wheelchair, yet roping down from a roof therein was a bit out of his league. Though, he kept these bitter thoughts to himself.

Peter replied brusquely. "Name, contact details?"

"Rhoda St. Clair, I can send you the phone number of her personal assistant or you'll check the gossip magazines to find out where she's currently staying. She's left New York this morning."

Rhoda St. Clair came from a wealthy family, has had a lively youth but was now settled with a family of her own. Nevertheless, she was still popular with the press. Peter had seen her on the cover of some of the magazines El was reading.

He gasped for air. "She's married and has a child. You're dating a married woman? That's a new low." There was a deep disgust in his voice.

The ex con-man rejected the accusation with a shrug and replied flippantly. "Her husband is out of the country, and besides, he doesn't mind. He encourages our relationship. Whenever Rhoda is in town, we meet to spend some quality time together. Her husband even pays for the expenses."

Like Rhoda herself, her husband would be truly grateful for the rest of his life that Neal Caffrey has saved his daughter's life. Furthermore, he'd feel forever guilty that the rescuer had to pay his act of bravery with a permanent disability. Apart from providing money for medical treatment, they have supported him emotionally over the past 18 month, even built up a solid friendship.

Of course, Peter didn't know this and drew the intended conclusion. Tight-lipped, he glared at the ex-consultant.

Diana went on. "Okay, I'll check that with her personal assistant. What about Tuesday, 11 o'clock in the morning?"

Neal couldn't remember right away. "I'll have to check my calendar. Can you fetch my smart phone from the kitchen table?"

"Can't you get out of your comfy deck chair and move your ass into the kitchen yourself?" Burke was without any doubt enraged.

_I've never lied to you_... Neal smiled at his former handler provokingly. "No, I can't. Would you do me the honors?"

Diana shook her head. "Caffrey, you're a moron." Anyhow, she went to the kitchen and threw the phone to him.

Catching it nonchalantly, Neal checked his calendar. "Tuesday, you've said. Let's see. Yep. I've had a massage around that time. Jasmina, petite raven-haired beauty, you should ask for her if you're ever tensed up. Her hands can perform miracles. She's adorable."

Jasmina was a 53 year old physiotherapist who helped Caffrey to build up leg muscles and ease the back pain. She wasn't exactly raven-haired anymore, more greyish-black. Nevertheless, she was extremely good in her job. Furthermore, she always tried to match him up with one of her nieces or cousin's daughters because she felt he needed a family. She had even suggested once that she had a very nice nephew in case he wasn't interested in nieces in general.

Normal people, like hard working FBI agents for example, spent weekdays carrying on a job and didn't indulge in wellness treatments with exotic beauties. Peter couldn't refrain from passing a caustic comment. "What a busy day, having a massage at mid-morning."

Neal leered, and his impudent remark wasn't appeasing either. "Sour grapes, but I keep repeating myself. Remember?"

Both men remembered quite well the encounter they had had years ago when Peter had complained about Neal having a $10 million dollar view and sipping espresso with a 22-year-old art student. So much has happened since then.

However, when Peter asked about his alibi for Friday morning last week, the day the first crime had been committed, Neal flat-out refused to give him any details.

Under no circumstances would he talk about his appointment for an examination with Dr. Greene at a private medical center in New Jersey. The center was specialized in the treatment of paralysis and reconstructive nerve surgery providing a variety of cutting edge treatments. He wasn't ready to discuss the implications of this visit with Peter. No way!

Still, the agent was insisting. "I repeat my question. Where have you been last Friday, 8 am?"

Neal stopped smiling and stared at him. "If you're asking as a friend, you will believe me that I haven't committed the crime you're investigating. If you're asking as an agent, I'll end this conversation right now and won't say another word without my lawyer."

"Mozzie? You want to call Mozzie?"

Oh yes, Neal was very eager to call Moz. Although, not as his legal representation. These crimes Peter was investigating were exact copies of those Caffrey had committed himself years ago. He could think of only two people who knew enough details to copycat them. Since Kate was dead, his old friend was the only remaining culprit. What the blazes had he been thinking?

Caffrey hasn't asked for details about Mozzie's business activities here in New York, plausible deniability and all... But this was downright ridiculous. Of course, he wouldn't rat him out. However, _Haversham_ had plenty to explain to him regarding his latest activities.

"No, Mozzie isn't in New York. These days, I'm represented by Pulman, Norris & Landis. Whatever legal advice I need, they take care of it."

Pulman, Norris & Landis was one of the top ranked law firms in New York, and of course, Peter knew it well. Most of the lawyers working there had Harvard degrees. "Quite an upgrade. Probably none of them has got his degrees from an online university. How can you afford their services? On top of that, they're usually quite picky with their client list. How come they've taken on a felon?"

"Not so fast. I'm an ex-felon, served my time. You of all should know. But don't let's get distracted. Rhoda, she has recommended me. Since her husband is one of their biggest clients, they didn't refuse. They're quite good. So, if you want to interrogate me, I'll call them and we can meet at the FBI. Name a date and a time."

"I will! You get a summons."

After delivering this last line, Burke stormed out. Diana followed him. At least, unlike her ex-boss, she took the time to say good bye before leaving the terrace.

Peter was sitting in his car, still too furious to drive. Both agents were silent for a couple of moments.

Then, Diana broke the silence. "This was weird. Do you think he did it?"

Her former boss shook his head. "No, I don't. But he's hiding something, deceiving me. I'm aware that I've I overreacted; you don't have to tell me. That son of a bitch knows exactly which buttons to push to make me losing my temper. Only, I don't understand why he was doing it."

Neal, upstairs, tried to focus on his book and forget the unpleasant affair. After a while, he realized that he was reading the same page for the fifth time. When he consequently closed the book, one line caught his eye '_Keep away from open windows...'_ Yes, the book held quite some good advice for him, but he wasn't in the mood for reading anymore.

...

AN:

Thanks for all your lovely reviews. Hope you like this chapter, too.  
I promise next chapter will be less hurt and more comfort :-)


	4. Getting in the whole picture

Peter was bursting to start digging into Neal's alibis the moment they returned to the Bureau. However, Diana rejected his suggestion. "Listen, Boss. That's not a good idea. You're too emotionally involved. An FBI agent needs professional distance to carry out an investigation. After all, you've taught me that the first year I worked as your probie!"

Burke agreed reluctantly, yet he insisted on being kept in the loop.

Waiting in his office proved to be agonizing. He couldn't help reflecting about his last encounter with Caffrey over and over. Doubts were nagging at him that he had overlooked something important, though he had no clue what this might have been.

On the other hand, he hasn't seen Caffrey for more than three years. Maybe, his former partner has changed indeed into a selfish douchebag along the way. Or even worse, he has never been anything else but conned the FBI agent into seeing something more behind the pretty face.

It didn't take Diana's team long to prove the alibis. Jasmina, the physiotherapist, was bothered about the FBI investigating her favorite client. Not only did she confirm Neal's appointment with her, but she couldn't stop singing his praise.

Diana became a bit exasperated while reading the transcript of the interview. The talkative witness found many flowery words to describe her client. Handsome, charming, warmhearted, attentive, friendly, tragic fate, brave soul, lonesome... Obviously, the poor woman has fallen for his charms. Caffrey hasn't lost his ability to win people over, especially woman, and making friends effortlessly. Although, that alone wasn't a crime in itself, she had to admit.

On the contrary, Mrs. St. Clair was acting with more reserve. It took a while to get past her personal assistant. Diana tried several times until, finally, she managed to talk to her on the phone. She, too, confirmed Neal's alibi. Of course, she had spent the previous evening with Neal. First, they had gone to an Off-Broadway show. Later on, they had Dinner at the Artesana. She had dropped him off at home around 1 am. 20 minutes later, he had called to ensure she had arrived safe and sound at the hotel.

When Diana tried to get to the bottom to her relationship with Caffrey, the tone of the conversation became distinctly frosty. Mrs. St. Clair referred to her lawyer, James Pulman from Pulman, Norris & Landis, for further questions and ended the call without further hesitation.

Rhoda knew about Neal's criminal past as well as his history with the FBI. If the Feds tried to blame crimes on him, she won't take any risks and let her lawyer handle the communication. Better safe than sorry. She would do anything to save Neal further trouble.

Late in the afternoon, Diana received a call from said law firm. A trial lawyer informed her that he'd appear for Mr. Caffrey. He demanded that any further interrogation of his client had to be carried out only in his presence – regardless of whether Mr. Caffrey was under the suspicion of having committed a crime or appeared as a witness.

Peter grew increasingly frustrated listening to Diana's report. "So, he lawyered up. That hasn't taken him long."

As long as they couldn't present any hard evidence connecting Caffrey with the recent crimes, it would be difficult to pursue investigations regarding his whereabouts on Friday morning last week. His alleged involvement in crimes past the statute of limitations wouldn't suffice to obtain a court order.

Since they wouldn't achieve any progress that evening, Burke figured it would be better to take a break. "Why don't we both sleep it over tonight? Hopefully, in the morning, we'll begin to see the light. You'll go home to Theo, and I'll go to see my wife."

With a sigh, he packed up his painting. Delaying the inevitable wouldn't help. Sooner or later, he had to tell Elizabeth about this purchase. She would understand. It wasn't that big a deal! After all, their bank account was in balance and they could afford it. Then, why did he feel so uneasy?

As a matter of fact, she took notice of the package, wrapped in a slipcover from an exclusive gallery, the moment he entered the kitchen.

'Hi, hon. What's in there? Have you brought work home or is it a gift?" She has been preparing dinner and cleaned her hands before examining the package curiously.

However, El's reaction to the unwrapped painting took him entirely by surprise. After staring at it wide-eyed and open-mouthed for a couple of seconds, she bubbled over with excitement. "When has Neal come back?"

Peter wasn't able to follow her. "Neal? Why do you ask about him?"

Now, it was Elizabeth's turn to stare at him in disbelief. "It's his painting, of course. But you know that, don't you?"

Her husband shook his head, lost for words.

El looked somewhat confused. "Then, why have you brought the painting along?"

Peter cleared his throat. "I... It's... It has cast a spell over me. I don't know why, or how. I bought it in a gallery, love at first sight. Same as it has been with you."

Realizing that he was talking himself into trouble, he smiled at her. "I mean that love-at-first-sight thing, not the buying. But Neal hasn't created it, hon. The artist is called John Doe."

Now, Elizabeth burst out laughing. "John Doe. You're kidding me!"

When she realized that her husband actually had no clue, she pointed out what was perfectly clear to her.

"Look here, that's our front window with you and me sitting at the table. Don't you recognize our front door or the brier next to the stairs? You've planted it yourself. It seems as if there is a third plate on the table, even though the chair is empty."

Peter stared blankly at the canvas. He saw a pale rectangle - but no window, a ruby-colored round shape - but no brier, and their door has never been triangular, not even when he had been beastly drunk.

_For crying out loud, why was her husband so blind!_ El went on. "Here, down at the bottom, that's Neal in one of his dark suits. I bet it's the Devore. There's his hat, too. I don't know, it looks as if he's lying on the street. That's strange."

Peter's eyes were still blank. El grew impatient and sighed in exasperation.

"OK, Mr. Super-Agent. Can you see the framework around the window, that is the citrine colored rectangle?"

Her husband nodded affirmatively.

"Then take a closer look. If you don't see this, I'll give up." She threw her hands up in frustration.

What has seemed to Peter like a geometrical pattern turned out to be intertwined letters, Ns and Cs. Lots of NCs in fact. Hundreds. How could he have not seen it?

However, Elizabeth was puzzled by the painting. "It's great, absolutely extraordinary, though also a bit disturbing. What's that threatening object dominating the upper left corner? I can't recognize it. It looks menacing, but I can't make it out."

Peter focused on the reddish object without much hope to recognize anything. Then, like one of these optical illusion pictures, the blurry object suddenly switched to a clearly recognizable representation of a wheelchair. His brain has made sense of the shapes, putting them together like a jigsaw puzzle, formulating that which isn't there to that which is believable.

All at once, observations he has made, tags of memories, and scraps of conversations washed over him.

_Neal, always sitting during their previous two encounters, never standing or walking..._

_"Can't you get out of your comfy deck chair and move your ass into the kitchen yourself?"  
"No, I can't."_

_One of El's magazines with a sentimental, tearful story about Rhoda St. Clair and how a stranger had saved her beloved child without second thoughts from a car accident... A real hero punished for his bravery with being confined to a wheelchair... Back then, he had thought 'What a pathetic sob story. Probably, boost up sales for tissues many times over.'_

_The glass elevator in June's back garden... Those spacy doors in Caffrey's apartment..._

The realization of what had happened hit him between the eyes. Peter winced at the thought of how wrong he has been with his allegations so far.

"El, you're unbelievable. I love you! But I have to leave. Don't wait for me. I won't be here for dinner." Then, he kissed her, grabbed his key, and left - leaving his wife dumbstruck behind.

Since it was past rush hour, the agent reached June's place without delay. He had no clue what to say once he'd met his friend face to face. Yet, that didn't matter.

Eager to face Neal, he battered at the door. "Good evening, June. Sorry for bothering you so late. I don't want to be rude, only I need to talk to Neal."

Unlike the last time they'd met, she acted with reserve. "Peter, are you going to arrest him this time or have you planned just another interrogation?"

Agent Burke understood her concerns. "I'm here to apologize and find out what's going on. I don't get it. Why hasn't he told me that he's confined to a wheelchair? Or why hasn't he contacted us after the accident?"

June was heavy-hearted. "It's complicated, and it's his decision. I tried to bring him to his senses, talked to him for hours. However, you know he can be stubborn as a mule, or worse!"

Nevertheless, Peter had one more question. "If I may ask, why haven't you told me? I guess I wouldn't have acted like a prize idiot if I'd known."

The old lady gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. But he made me promise to keep it a secret. I don't break my word. Notwithstanding, I tried to make you run into him seeing for yourself. Only, it didn't work out."

Burke needed a couple of moments to follow her chain of thoughts. Finally, a smile lighted up his face. "Two weeks ago, the tickets for the Met. That has been your work!"

A sly smile played around June's lips, yet she remained silent. Old con man rule, never admit anything.

Eventually, Peter went on. "Can I go upstairs to see him?"

Unfortunately, he came too late. "Neal's gone. He left an hour ago. That boy has been so upset. Our friend is all in a fluster lately, Peter. Get him to open up to you, please! He needs someone to talk to."

Peter didn't want to lose any more time. "Any idea where I can find him?"

June thought hard. "Empire State Building. That's where he goes whenever he needs to clear his mind."

The usual masses of tourists had already left the observation deck when the agent walked out of the elevator. He wandered around searching for his friend.

He found Neal staring through the acrylic glass into the bright lights of the city, his elbow resting on the railing.

"Looking for something, or someone?" Peter laid his hand on Neal's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

The younger man startled up. Then, spotting his old handler, he smiled sad-eyed. "Conjuring up old ghosts. After all, that's the place where I proposed to Sara, where Ellen hid the box. Not to forget, it was here where James killed the Senator and you got arrested. Apart from that, from here, I can see the whole city and the stars. The world at my feet."

Peter sat down on a ledge in the balustrade. Now he was at eye level with his former partner. They needed to talk, but it would take time and tact to get to the bottom of Neal's story.

Neal tore his eyes away from the city lights glaring at the agent. "So, you know. What gave me away? FBI intel, some security footage from the airport or a bank? Or did you grill Jasmina? Are you satisfied now that you've got wised up?"

Burke tried to allay Caffrey's suspicion. "Come off it! I haven't grilled anyone. You revealed it yourself!"

The younger man remained skeptical. "I did? How is that?"

Peter chuckled. "With your painting! I came across this strange mess of colors. Then and there, it bewitched me. So I had to take it home."

A bit of Neal's former wits flared up. "Good things come to those who wait. Never thought I'd see the day when you'll share the irresistible urge I feel at times to possess a piece of art!"

"Uh-huh. For the record, I purchased the painting, i.e. I paid for it with real money. I haven't stolen or taken it away in any other unlawful way."

"Wait, you've bought it? That's an awful lot of money to spend on a painting for someone who doesn't make sense of art. What did Elizabeth say?"

The question caused a bit discomfort since Peter hasn't told his wife yet about the price he'd paid for it. "She likes it. And without her help I wouldn't be standing here. You know me. I didn't recognize a thing, only felt a certain fascination whenever I looked at the painting. I've only seen a yellow rectangle, but she realized it was our front window. Just then, I was able to make out the wheelchair in the picture."

So that client at the gallery, who wanted to take 'Thanksgiving Cold Turkey' home, had been his former handler. It gave Neal a warm and fuzzy feeling to learn about the spell the painting has cast on his former handler. Even so, he was still offended by the accusations Burke had raised earlier that day. "I guess I'm not longer under suspicion of robbing a gallery or having a bit on the side with a married woman. I'll sleep better at night knowing that." His voice was thick with sarcasm.

Then after a short while, he asked with a childish irrationality. "Why did it take you so long? Where have you been all the time?"

Peter could have said a lot of things, like '_Because you've left me in the dark for more than one and a half year, putting on a Broadway-worthy show whenever we met._'

Even so, he didn't. After all, he wasn't a complete jerk. He knew his friend was hurt in so many ways. Therefore, he was willing to take the blame.

"I'm sorry. I haven't known; on top of that, I failed to see the obvious. I'm not extremely good when I'm involved emotionally. Didn't see the wood for the trees..."

Neal sighed and vetoed. "None of this has been your fault. You haven't jumped in front of the car, you haven't broken off contact, and you haven't played the role of a flippant lady-killer."

Nevertheless, Peter was seized with remorse. "That's true, but I've jumped to conclusions, had it once again on speed dial. Will you tell me what has happened? I only know bits and pieces. I'd like to have more facts than what I picked up from the glossies. Come on, put me in the picture."

So, his former partner gave him a full report about the accident, his injuries, including the medical diagnosis, as well his artistic career.

Eventually, when Caffrey lapsed into silence, his friend tried to make sense of the story. "So, you're a real-life hero, saved a little girl. I cannot fail to be impressed. Though, I don't understand why you severed all contact with us. El and I would have been there for you. We would have loved to support you."

Neal made a face. "Yeah, you would have showered me with pity and well-meant benefactions. Perfect idyll. I really don't know why I haven't called you the moment I came out of the coma."

Peter gave him a mildly reproving look. "Oh yes, because I'm known for my sentimental and relenting compassion. I would have wrapped you in a woolen blanket and read to you from the newspaper. Listen, both of us know that the only thing I might read to you is your Miranda rights. So, you'll have to come up with something better."

The younger man struggled with himself before he was able to continue talking with tears in his eyes. "At first, I was so incredibly disappointed. I've had so many plans, high-flying dreams about my career as well as a future family. I wanted the fairy tale and was about to get it. Then, all of a sudden, over and done with! It made me so bitter, so frustrated. I didn't want to see anybody who had a connection to my former life, tried to bury my head in the sand."

Neal paused; patiently Peter gave him all the time he needed. Eventually, Caffrey pulled himself together to continue. "After a few months, I've taken up the challenge to overcome my grief in order to gain some mobility. Around that time, Mozzie found me, pestering me enough to leave the valley of tears."

Peter could imagine very vividly how Mozzie had plagued his friend until the latter had given in and gotten into gear. He chuckled at the thought. Only, the most important question was still unanswered. "Why haven't you contacted me then. If you were able to accept help from Mozzie and June, why not from me or El? I don't get it. I wouldn't have considered you less of a person. No way!"

Neal refused. "Forget it. You'll laugh yourself sick if I tell you."

His former partner wasn't going to be fobbed off easily. "I don't think so. Try me!"

Caffrey hesitated. Looking down on the city, he remembered so many great moments he had shared with his friend down there. Smiling at the old days, when he had known what happiness was, he wished he could live these moments again. These memories have him the courage to go on.

"This is stupid, and irrational, and embarrassing to admit. But I guess there's nothing left to lose so I can tell you anyway ... I clutched at a straw. Some part of me cherished the idea that, at least in your imagination, I was still the whizz kid with a criminal mastermind in an unimpaired body. Unless you didn't know any better, I would always remain that way. Only, if you had looked at me and saw the sad reality, that invincible I would have been gone forever. Pretty, insane, huh?"

Peter shook his head and after a moment's hesitation, he reassured his friend. "No, it's not insane. Don't sell yourself short. You've suffered trauma and this was a perfectly normal way to deal with an abnormal situation. I only wish I could have been there for you. "

Neal accepted this conceivable explanation gratefully. Though, he wasn't so sure about El. "Then what about Elizabeth? I guess she's still cross with me. Have you told her the good news yet? I should have called you earlier. Probably I'm not the most welcome guest at your house right now. "

His former partner stared at him aghast "Of course, I haven't told her! I guess I wouldn't be here yet, if I've told her. First, she would have made me calling the builder to plan for a ramp at the front door in order to enable you free access to the house. Next, I would have had to tie a hundred yellow ribbons round the oak tree in our front garden!"

The younger man chuckled. "You don't have an oak tree."

His former handler heaved a feigned sigh. "Exactly, now you get the point. She would have made me planting one right away. All joking aside, El will be mad with joy." He paused until another thought crossed his mind. "Have you told Sara?"

Neal tried to seem indifferent. "Last time I've spoken to her, she was about to get married to a brilliant hedge funds manager. That has been months before I had the accident."

"Last time I've spoken to her, she got a divorce from a boring hedge funds manager. That was 6 months ago." Peter didn't comment this any further.

Sara had been in New York at that time and they had met for dinner. After a couple of champagne cocktails, the bright insurance investigator admitted staring into green eyes, when she woke up in the morning, had disappointed her. It hasn't done her marriage any good that she compared her husband with a blue-eyed con man quite often, with her husband coming off second best. Her heart had never missed a beat when she had kissed her husband.

After a while, the agent raised the next question. Something was bothering his former partner, things that have been left unspoken so far. "What has brought you to New York then? Bright lights, big city? Or is there something else?"

The younger man couldn't resist the piercing look. "Okay, there is this medical center in New Jersey. They offer cutting edge treatments. I thought it won't do any harm to take a look. You know, just browse around and have a casual chat.

Peter's interest was awakened. "Uh-huh. What did they say? Is there a treatment available?"

Neal fidgeted on his wheelchair, not really comfortable with the topic. "It's not easy. There is a treatment. But it's still experimental. There have been carried out only five similar surgeries so far, worldwide. Two of them have been successful. And '_successful_' doesn't imply a complete recovery. The best case is that I will be able to wiggle my toes. It might or might not be a starting point for follow-up treatment."

Burke was worried. "Is there a worst case scenario? Like, for example, that you could end up even less mobile? What did the doctor say?"

Caffrey laughed cheerless. "Worst case scenario is that nothing changes, and I have to abandon all hope. I went through all sorts of medical examinations. After all, I'm not a strong candidate for the treatment. It's possible that the surgery might improve my condition; although, it's betting against impossible odds."

Surprisingly, Peter cheered. "That sounds perfect!"

Neal looked at him without understanding, completely baffled.

"You're Neal Caffrey. Impossible is what you specialize in. A wise man said once it's fun to do the impossible. Stop whining and ..."

Peter was interrupted by his friend. "Stop! Don't even think about saying it!"

However, the agent went on with a broad grin. "... and cowboy up! Come on, give it a try. The man I've chased for years wouldn't have hesitated to embrace the challenge. You might lose a bit of hope if the surgery doesn't work. But you've already lost if you don't try at all. Fatalism has never been among your many extraordinary characteristics. You may have encountered defeat, still you must not be defeated. Moreover, it's not your last resort. If it doesn't work, we'll find something else. Besides, I figure you're not happy with that wheelchair, yet you're alive. Nothing else matters."

Neal fretted at these words. "Don't give me that crap '_You're lucky that you haven't ended up worse._..' I've been told that so often that I'll scream if I have to hear it one more time. You have no idea how it feels unless you've been disabled yourself."

Peter groped for words. „That's not what I wanted to say. You've most certainly not been lucky being injured in an accident, unable to walk on your own. But, I - well I feel lucky that my friend is still alive and hasn't died on some far away French road. As long as you're alive, we can work something out. You're not alone in this. Whether or not you'll undergo that treatment, I'll be there for you."

Eventually, Neal nodded consenting. It was comforting to have friends. Looking ahead was much easier if there was someone around. He had feared, more than anything else, the moment Peter saw him like he was right now, disabled and shattered. But now, that it has happened, it has lost its scare. The moment came and went.

Maybe, it would be the same with that surgery. Face it and it'll lose its scare. Contenting himself with little, or putting up with a situation has never been his credo. He has always reached for the impossible, as a matter of fact, achieved it more often than not. It was about time to think about a new life, to stop wallowing in memories.

Staring at the night sky, he recited Emerson, with a smile on his face, '_Hitch your wagon to a star._' Either he would be cured completely or he would become the most friggin' awesome wheelie in the world. He wouldn't settle for less.

...

AN:

It has taken me a while to complete this chapter. Real life has taken some toll. Thanks for waiting so patiently. I hope you like it.

Thanks again for your reviews and suggestions.

One chapter to go. Next chapter will complete the story.


	5. Celebrate Life

**Three years later ...**

Agent Burke smirked at the unusual sight, unable to hide a considerable amount of schadenfreude. "I've always thought you look good in orange. Although, I have to admit this is not your usual style of clothing."

He pointed at the bright orange tee shirt with a large print of a whale watching spot near Vancouver.

Neal winced at the frightful sight. "What can I say? Frida gave it to me as a present. And she has insisted that I dress up today for the party. My goddaughter is a smart girl, but none with a sense of style or colors. Anyhow, I haven't had the heart to refuse her request. There were tears welling in her eyes when I suggested that I might save that shirt for another, more important day. She played me!"

Peter has long since ceased to wonder at the strange assortment of names Mozzie has given his children. Frida, the oldest, was named after Frida Kahlo, a Mexican painter. Still, he was grateful that that no-one expected him to call FM by his full name, Fyodor Mikhailovich.

Mozzie has brought all five of them to New York. They have stayed for two weeks, and tomorrow they were all heading back home.

When Neal had decided to celebrate the end of his treatment with a party, he'd chosen to have a big pick-nick at Central Park. They'd picked June's favorite spot in the park for the event. It was near a playground where Byron had once adopted a bench for her. The inscription on the plaque said '_To the best con in my life_.'

Byron had thought June conned him into believing that he could actually lead a decent life. He had claimed she had conned him so expertly that he needed years to find out, and even though, couldn't bring himself to revert to his former habits.

Peter suspected this story was one of the reasons that Neal loved the place. Another reason might be that the bench offered an excellent view to an unbarred back window of a storage section belonging to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Elizabeth has set up everything for the party, from French canapés and blini with caviar to chicken nuggets and jelly in three different colors. There was a variety of food, broad enough to suit exclusive tastes as well as children's more mundane demands. Tables were well-laid with bright colored table cloths and dishware, blankets were spread on the grass.

Earlier that morning, El had sung the praise of her new pastry cook. Thanks to her they had a big fancy cake, as well as lots of apple pies, brownies and white chocolate cookies. Elizabeth nurtured a hope that business would soar with such an enhancement to her food offerings. Peter had kept his doubts to himself.

Peter Burke joined June and Neal who sat on the bench watching the children.

"So, you've set your mind on ending your treatment?"

In the last three years, Neal has undergone five surgeries, plus continuous exhausting physiotherapy. Nowadays, he was able to walk with the aid of a cane. His left leg has remained stiff, and climbing stairs was an ordeal, yet possible.

Of course, he didn't use a common walking stick, but a very distinguished 18th century cane, with an ornate ivory knob, reportedly once belonging to Napoleon I.

After extensive consultation with his doctors, Caffrey had decided to call it quits. Further surgeries promised only marginal improvement, yet they would be time-consuming and painful. Nevertheless, Neal would continue physiotherapy, probably for the rest of his life, to rebuild and strengthen his muscular system.

Peter supported this decision, but he was wondering how his friend coped with the finality of the implications.

However, Neal didn't seem unhappy. "Yeah, I thought I make life easier for you. You're getting older and chasing me when I'm running might overstrain you, old man."

June chuckled about Peter's sour face. In fact, his age was a slightly touchy subject with him these days. Of course, he couldn't let this pass without comment.

"I don't know - I've stopped counting so long ago... What's the score? 4:0, 5:0? Catching you has never been a problem so far. I guess, even in due considerations of the afflictions of my old age, you'd never run so fast that I won't catch you. Therefore buddy, I hope you have better reasons for ending the treatment."

June smiled. She had talked many a night with Neal about his decision, helped him to search his mind. Therefore, she knew he didn't act without due consideration. Still, she was glad that he had a friend who cared enough to challenge this decision.

Neal made no secret of his motives. "Yes, I could undergo another surgery and yet another. Maybe, my leg would be a little less stiff afterwards, but maybe not. Money isn't the problem. Rhoda and her family are more than willing to finance endless medical treatments."

He waved at the elegant couple talking to Elizabeth. Rhoda kept an eye on them. She has remained skeptical about the FBI agent's intentions to befriend an ex-criminal, but obviously her distrust didn't include his wife. Peter felt a bit awkward whenever he had to talk to her and hasn't been able to win her over so far.

Neal went on excitedly. "Anyways, I don't like to spend so much time of my life in hospitals anymore. It's time to move on. There is so much more to do! Beyond question, living my life isn't just sunshine and lollipops. Now, if a good fairy showed up at my doorstep to grant me three wishes, I wouldn't turn her offer down. Seriously, some days my bones hurt like hell, and I have to take the MOMA in strides because I can't walk for more than an hour without needing rest."

Of course, that wasn't news to Peter. He has accompanied his friend on quite a few of his daily walks, has observed Neal growing ashen and building up sweat. At first, he was afraid that the younger man expected too much of himself too early. However, the expression of elation on Neal's face when he had achieved his set task and made another step towards 'Taking Manhattan Back', as he called it, convinced the agent of the contrary.

He had the same cloud-nine-expression on his face right now when he continued speaking. "Apart from that, I've got everything I've ever wanted. I shudder at the thought, but maybe, I've acquired the maturity to stop chasing rainbows. Right now, I'm exactly where I want to be, and together with all the people I love, doing things I really enjoy."

In fact, he could sell more paintings than he actually created. Though, Neal painted only when he felt like it and had very high standards regarding his own work. He didn't rush his artwork to go for quantity. Then again, he was busy with his job as visiting lecturer for art history, and he was working once again as a freelance consultant for the FBI. It was a busy, but happy life.

Satisfied with this answer, Peter addressed June. "Is this the same cheeky rascal who was released into the custody of the FBI under my supervision? Wasn't it yesterday that he was willing to risk his life for a music box?"

June smiled; talking was still strenuous for her after a slight stroke a couple of months ago. But still, she didn't hesitate to make the effort. "Our boy has grown up finally."

Neal pouted. "No need to become abusive! Growing up is for boring people like suburban FBI agents. I only plan to enjoy life to the full."

Peter smirked. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from you. June, if he ever gets in your hair, call me."

"He won't." June knew very well that this was just idle talk. Neal had acted very responsible after her stroke. He had made the necessary arrangements for her recovery at home, hired a trained nurse to help during the first weeks and took care that she never felt alone.

Just recently, she had sold half of the house to him, and they had rebuilt the upper floor to prepare for the upcoming changes.

Peter looked around searchingly. "I haven't met Sara yet. I'm really looking forward to meeting her."

Neal smiled with a thrill of anticipation. "Well, that's because she's not here. She decided two days ago on the spur of the moment to handle the recovery of a stolen Gaugin herself and off she was to New Orleans. Not that she had to! There are plenty of eager insurance investigators to go on these bounty hunts. I guess she had to prove it to herself that she has still got the hang of it. Her plane has already landed. She should be here within an hour or so."

The older man stared at him in disbelief. "I've never heard about an airline that takes a woman aboard who's eight months pregnant."

"Private jet. Property of Sterling Bosch. She'd put the fear of death into the executive guys until they gave their approval." Neal didn't seem to be anxious at all but rather proud of his wife.

Nevertheless, Peter wasn't willing to let the matter rest. "Why haven't you talked her out of it and made her abandon this lunatic plan?"

Neal shrugged even-minded. "I prefer to pick my battles, have at least a chance to win. Have you ever tried to stop a bus at full speed?"

Now, it was his former handler's turn to smirk. "Story of my life! You wanna exchange notes? I've spent four years trying to keep a young, reckless CI out of trouble. If anything, that was stopping a bus at full speed."

Named former CI couldn't refrain from sighing. "I suppose that was meant to be funny?"

After June has left them to look after her granddaughter, Diana filled her place. "Caffrey, what is this with your physiotherapist? Why is she harassing me with photos of her nieces?"

The con man's face lightened up. "Oh, you've finally met Jasmina in person! She has an endless supply of nieces of marriageable age."

Now, the FBI agent was all the more furious. "Do I look as if I need to get paired off?"

Neal gave her a smug smile. "Well, yes. You don't wear a ring. That's a perfect reason for Jasmina to think you need a partner."

As one would have expected, his words failed to calm the waves. Diana was still fuming. "She seems to be here on her own. Why doesn't she look for a husband for herself before she meddles with other people's life?"

Even though his face wore still a smile, Neal stopped joking. "She's a hopeless romantic. She has lost the love of her live more than twenty years ago in Bosnia. She's never going to marry anyone else. Nonetheless, she thinks everyone deserves to find his soul mate once in his life."

Diana was caught off guard. "Ahem, I guess, it's okay then. Just tell her, no more photos for me. I've already found my soul mate."

At the sight of Caffrey's look of astonishment, she drew herself up to full height, hands on her hips, and hissed, "But I won't tell you a thing about it. Yet." Then, she turned around on her heels dashing away.

Neal stifled a laugh while asking his friend. "Did you know?"

Peter shook his head. "I had no idea! Rest assured I'm going to set my best undercover agent to work out the details."

Neal was amused. "You're going to ask El?"

The agent wasn't embarrassed at all. "El usually knows this kind of stuff. She's good at connecting with people."

A short while later, the agent wandered around the playground and came to rest next to Mozzie who threw him a leery look. "Suit!"

Peter was in an oddish cheerful mood. "Mozzie, your kids are fantastic. They are very creative. As far as I understand that game they play over there is called '_landing of the aliens_'? Meeting your family has really made a lasting impression on me."

Mozzie eyed him even more suspiciously. "Are you getting chummy with me, Suit? If you're expecting me to rat out some old friends after a bit of chit chat, forget it! Bad enough that you've lured Neal into turning to the dark side. I'm not such an easy prey."

Faced with these dramatics, Peter felt the urgent need to roll his eyes but exercised restrain. Instead, when Mozzie started to move on, the agent seized the small man by the arm to make him stay.

"Don't worry. I'm not here to interrogate you, just taking a trip down the memory lane. You know, if I hadn't worked for the White Collar division, my life might be quite different today."

Peter ignored Mozzie's sulky remark. "Hear ye, hear ye! Not only yours..."

The agent went on unwavering. "I might have not met my wife - what a loss, think about it - or Neal, or even you. I could have decided to work for another department, like cyberterrorism for example. Just yesterday, I met my old friend Tony who's working in the Office of Cybersecurity and Communications. They've been tipped off that a female hacker genius from our most wanted list will probably cross the border to Canada this weekend. Now, he has to spend this lovely weekend on a stakeout at the Rainbow Bridge. Whereas, I can enjoy this pleasant afternoon here in the park in the company of old friends, not to forget the very delicious cakes."

Mozzie stared at him, one of the rare occasions that words didn't come to him easily. Then he nodded and was about to walk away, but not without a weird comment. "It's a strange world. Let's keep it that way. I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Suit."

It didn't take long until Neal came by and stood next to the FBI agent. "How did you find out?"

Peter hesitated a moment before he answered. "I am an FBI agent. Just in case you haven't noticed that already. I got curious when your friend turned up with a bunch of infants but without their mother. A mother who is very devoted to her children, according to all accounts. Then, by sheer chance, my wife comes across a new pastry cook. In case that hadn't been enough, three-year old Serendipity called her 'Maman'. Now, please do me a favor, and let's forget that we've ever talked about this. Plausible deniability..."

Neal raised his hands placatingly. "When have I ever listened to your gibberish?"

Both men watched silently and content the children playing, Mozzie's kids, together with June's grandchildren and Theo. Even Jessie, the girl Neal had saved all those years ago, a cool teenager by now, had dropped all coolness frolicking with the kids and dogs around, green grass stains on her shirt.

Neal had something else on his mind, something that was actually weighing heavy on his heart. "I've got a big favor to ask of you."

Peter had no idea what his friend was up to. "Go ahead!"

"My father has never taught me to play baseball, or football or any other sports while we're on it. I don't know how to do this. But even if, with my leg and the cane I won't be able to catch a ball anyway. My child shall have all this, grow up like any other child. If it's a boy, will you do this _watching a game_,_ throwing a ball_ thing with him? I don't want him to miss that."

There was not the slightest hint of hesitation. "Of course, I'd love to do that. Absolutely. Only, what if it's a girl?"

Neal shrugged. "I guess girls play baseball, too. Don't they?"

The older man nodded his assent. "If I have to have a say in the matter, they'll do. I'm going to take her to the stadium, and we're going to the park on Sunday mornings in the summer. Goes without saying, you're more than welcome to come along. That's going to be fun."

Notwithstanding that Neal would under no circumstances admit this freely, he actually agreed. This was going to be fun, and he was looking forward to it.

And that's the end of the story...

**AN:**

Thanks for reading, reviewing and sharing your thoughts with me.  
I hope you like the ending. Anyways, I couldn't change it. I've told it just how it has happened in my imagination. I know some of you think, Peter acted to mean. Sorry.

In place of the usual disclaimer (I guess no-one reading this has any doubts that I don't own White Collar... ), I'd like to thank Jeff Eastin for creating that wonderful show, for fueling my imagination and boosting my creativity. Probably, he's never going to read this, but someone said a good thought can be heard by the universe and spread its way from there back to the world. So universe: go and do your part!


End file.
